Where the Wild Things Bank
by canoncansodoff
Summary: James and Lily give the goblins of Gringotts a very good reason to ensure that their little raven-haired King of the Wild Things reaches adulthood.
1. Chapter 1: Incentives

**Where the Wild Things Bank****  
an HP fanfic by canoncansodoff**

**A/N: **See author's explanation at the end. Thanks to grenouille, ironchefor, mariusdarkwolf and others in the Seel'vor group for their comments on earlier versions of parts of this story.

**Disclaimer: **Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 1: Incentives**

**oo00OO00oo**

_**London, Late September, 1981**_

__Little bells tingled when James Potter opened the front door to a small office on a small side-street just off Diagon Alley. He gave those bells an incredulous glance as he gestured for his wife to pass through the threshold, then glared back over his shoulder towards those bells when they rang once more as the door closed behind him.

"Might as well shout _'Hey look everybody, this is where they disappeared to!_" he muttered, shaking his head.

"Well I think they sound rather cheerful," Lily declared, as she pulled the hood of her cloak back. "Helps brighten the mood a bit."

"They'd have to have Big Ben's bells attached to the bloody door if that was their goal," James replied.

"Language!" his wife quietly chided.

James rolled his eyes, then walked up to a receptionist and exchanged pre-arranged passwords. Once satisfied, both the receptionist and the Auror pocketed the wands that they'd had out by their sides. The young couple were then asked to take a seat, as they had arrived a few minutes early for their appointment.

Lily found it difficult not to fidget as she sat next to her husband.

"Maybe I should send a _Patronus_ message to Frank and Alice, making sure that Harry is okay?" she asked.

James sighed, and shook his head. "Relax, Lily-flower…it's not like they haven't watched Harry for us before. I'm sure that he's fine…just as I'm sure that we're only supposed to use that spell while on Order business."

The Muggleborn witch sighed. "Yes, I know, but still…"

"And they didn't worry last night when we took little Neville off of their hands so that they could have some alone time as well."

"Yes, I do know, and I don't care if it isn't rational."

"We don't have to do this, you know," James offered. "We can pick Harry up right after we're done here."

Lily shook her head. "No, we need a night all our own, just as much as Frank and Alice did."

Her husband smiled, and patted Lily's knee.

"I agree…and I'm looking forward to it."

The heavy oak door behind the receptionist's desk opened before Lily could reply. They watched as their solicitor shook another client's hand and walked the wizard out of the office. James tried not to wince too obviously when the small bells that hung over the street entrance announced the other customer's departure.

The solicitor turned towards James and Lily and said, "Lord and Lady Potter, it is good to see you both...if you like to step back into my office?"

Harry's parents nodded, and allowed the older wizard to escort them into the back room.

"Have a seat…could I get either you something to drink?"

"No thanks, Robert," James said curtly. "And how many times do I need to instruct you about binning the honorifics?"

The other wizard shrugged. "Old habits, old dogs, new tricks…so how is that mischievous little boy of yours doing?"

Lily sighed. "He is doing fine, Mr. Howe, but…if you'll forgive me…if time was money then James and I wouldn't have a knut to our names right now."

"Yes, yes…I understand completely," the solicitor replied, as he gestured towards a small table. As James and Lily sat down the white-haired wizard retrieved three scrolls of legal parchment from a desk drawer. One was much thicker than the other two.

"Which would you rather review first?" he asked.

"The wills please," said Lily.

The solicitor nodded, and handed the respective documents to his two clients. James and Lily opened them and began to read. The red-haired witch sighed loudly just a few seconds in to this review.

"Where are the all caps?" she asked.

"Excuse me?"

"The all caps that I requested added to Section Three?"

The solicitor frowned as he leaned over Lily's shoulder and glanced at the text she was pointing towards.

"Could I not have been any clearer?" she asked sharply. "Right here, after we list our choices for Harry's custodial guardians if need arises...where are the all caps?"

"What all caps?" asked James.

"The capitalized letters that are supposed to spell out _**'UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES IS HARRY TO LIVE WITH MY SISTER PETUNIA DURSLEY AND HER FAMILY'**_!"

Both James and the solicitor winced.

"Yes, well…your written instructions were quite clear, Mrs. Potter," the older wizard stated. "Unfortunately, it is highly unusual for someone to append that type of declaration onto a list of approved custodians. If fact, it is not only unusual…it is unheard of, and quite outside the legal language that is customary for these types of documents."

"Well, that's what I want!" Lily replied. "That's what we are paying you to do for us…isn't it?"

James closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Lily-flower…"

"Don't you Lily-flower me!"

"Lady Potter, I am most sympathetic to your concerns," the solicitor said patiently. "Documents can certainly be prepared that include that type and style of declaration."

"Good. Then do it."

"But, if I might add?" the solicitor asked. "Based on our previous conversations, what I understood you were paying me to do was to prepare dragonskin-clad documents…wills that are structured and written so tightly and carefully that they could withstand the strongest of legal challenges. Was I mistaken?"

James shook his head. "No, that is exactly what we need, Robert."

The solicitor nodded. "Lady Potter?" he gently asked.

Lily sulked for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

"Well, then…if that is to be the case, then we really can't afford to include within your wills anything that is atypical, lest the documents be challenged based on your states of mind at the time of signing."

"States of mind?" Lily whined. "My sister is a Muggle, for Merlin's sake. Who is going to say that I am out of my right mind for saying that I don't want her to raise Harry…a Pureblood?"

"We need dragonskin-clad wills, Sweetheart," James reasoned. "Listen, if you really want the wizarding world to know, then how about this… I'll buy you a full page advertisement in the _Prophet_. Then you can say what you think about Petunia using fist-sized glow-in-the-dark all caps! Make the letters dance and sing, even."

Lily sighed and shook her head. "No time, no need, and no fight left in me…can I trust that everything else we requested satisfied your dragonskin-clad concerns?"

When the solicitor nodded, James and Lily read through the documents just to be certain, and then acquiesced.

"Right, moving on to the change in management firms for the Potter Trust," the older wizard stated, as he rolled out the larger of the three scrolls in front of James. "This was just sent over today. I am still astounded by the fact that they were willing to put their marks on this contract without you there to concurrently do the same…but, then again, why wouldn't the Goblins be eager, given such favorable terms?"

Lily sighed, but was too tired (and too rushed for time) to complain about the patriarchal financial system within the wizarding world.

James was too focused on reviewing the terms of the agreement to notice.

"Did they finally stop grumbling about the custodial disbursement clause?"

"Not, really," the solicitor admitted. "And certainly no more than I am grumbling over the fees that they will be earning once they take over management of the Trust from us."

"Still jealous, Robert?" James asked.

"Certainly not," the solicitor briskly replied. "It is always the client's prerogative to take their business elsewhere, and for whatever reason. And the fact that our firm has had a hand in helping financially manage the Potter estate for the last nine generations…and that the Trust was our idea, and that we've managed profitable returns over the past few years despite what this war has done to the economy…"

"Is a testament to your trustworthiness, your business acumen, and your loyalty," said James. "Please, Robert…this has nothing to do with the level of service you have provided our family over the years. I know that the goblins aren't likely to provide a return on investment that is significantly higher than what your firm has demonstrated…"

"Certainly not high enough to offset their management fees," Robert quipped.

James shrugged. "No question there."

The solicitor sighed as he cleaned his eyeglasses with the edge of his vest.

"I promised myself that I would not badger you into explaining your reasons for letting us go," he stated. "Merlin knows that we all have cause to keep things close to our chests."

Lily smiled, and started the sentence that she knew he wanted to start.

"It is just that…."

The solicitor snorted. "Touche, . It is just the fact that your husband offered this fee structure to Gringotts at first go. He and I both know that they would have jumped at the opportunity to take on this responsibility for half of what he offered as an opener."

"My husband's wife knows that as well," Lily grumbled.

"Lily-flower…" James hissed.

"Yes, Dear."

The Head of House Potter sighed as he turned towards their solicitor.

"Look, Robert…you have to understand…"

"That's just it, James…I can't understand why you've chosen to sack us. I'm not trying to disparage Gringotts, they got good people… goblins… working over there. Speaking of which… have they provided you with the names and credentials of the man…or goblin…that would be managing this account?"

James shook his head.

"We were told that there would be several top-flight managers vying for the post."

The solicitor snorted, and shook his head in disgust. "Vying in their bloody Arena, no doubt," he snarked. "And I say that quite literally."

The Head of House Potter smirked. "So you're saying that there is a rather _cut-throat_ management style over there?"

"James!" hissed Lily, giving him a swat to the shoulder.

"It's not my money," the Solicitor stated. "But if it were, I'd rather that the selection criteria be more about return on investment than returning from the battlefield."

James shrugged. "It must work for them, based on their track record."

"Yes, yes…they are just as good as we are when it comes to estate management."

Lily sighed, and once again started the solicitor's next sentence for him.

"But…."

"But saying that they are as good doesn't mean that they're better. We have the same access to the same investment vehicles. We both can handle your legal affairs, and I am quite certain that their reach into the Ministry is just as deep and as reliable as ours."

"I am sure that it is," said James.

"So why are you making this change?" the solicitor said, trying hard not to raise his voice even as his blood pressure rose. "What does Gringotts have to offer that we can't?"

Lily snorted.

"Do you really want to know what the Goblins have that you don't?" she asked.

"Yes...what exactly do they have?"

"An army."

James snorted , closed his eyes, and shook his head.

The solicitor stared open-mouthed at his client's wife, as he tried to work through the logic in her response.

"Neither of you have next-of-kin, do you?" he finally stated.

Lily shook her head. "I do, but…my sister Petunia is as non-magical as you can get. She has a boy that is Harry's age, but as far as we know our nephew hasn't shown any signs of being magical."

"Do you think that his parents would have told us if he had?" James asked incredulously. "I imagine that your brother-in-law would try to beat the magic out of the boy, and sweep both the boy and that magic under the carpet."

"That's beside the point, Dear," Lily replied.

Their solicitor nodded. "So, if the unimaginable were to happen, and young Harry lost both of you…?"

"It's unfortunately far too easy to imagine that we're high on the Death Eaters' hit list," said Lily.

"Then your son would be the last Potter," the solicitor reasoned. "And if he didn't survive past age seventeen, at which point he could create his own will…"

"Then the Ministry will swoop in with their 100% estate tax and confiscate the entire estate," James agreed.

"It would be sixteen, actually," said Lily. "As the last Potter, he could claim his titles and become emancipated a year early."

"Younger than sixteen, if he fathers a magical child," James noted with a sly smile.

Lily glared at her husband.

"James Potter! You will not go down that road and encourage my baby boy to father a child just as soon as puberty hits, just as a way of maintaining the Potter line!"

"But Lily…I'm just saying…that tax only applies when there are no magical heirs."

A short squabble followed, in which Lily guaranteed that her husband would have zero chance of himself extending the Potter line (at least in her bed) should he continue making that argument. During that time, their solicitor walked over to a sideboard and poured out three stiff measures of Muggle whisky. He emptied a glass in one go, then refilled it, and carried the three glasses over to the table.

"I think I understand, now," the solicitor stated, pushing the two glasses across the table. "Rather ingenious idea…have you gotten any assurances from them about this type of…secure management?"

James shook his head. "You can't ask them outright for something like that. You know how careful they are about keeping to the treaty terms after the last war. Or at least appearing to keep to those terms."

The solicitor nodded towards the scroll and snorted.

"Yes, well…talk is cheap, and those management fees are anything but. I daresay you've provided all the incentive they would need."

"We certainly hope so," Lily replied quietly. She shuddered, hating the magical world and those within in it who had forced them to plan for worst case scenarios.

"Just promise me that after this horrid war is over and you feel a little more secure with the situation that you'll consider switching back?" asked the solicitor.

James nodded, taking a healthy draw from his glass.

"Of course, Robert…of course. So we are ready for signatures, then?"

The older wizard nodded, and called for his administrative assistant to come into the office and serve as a second witness. When he turned back to his clients he spotted James pulling a quill from his robe pocket, and shook his head.

"Sorry, Old Chap," he apologized, "but these will require special signatures."

"Oh, yes…how could we ever forget those blasted blood quills?" Lily whined, as she reflexively (and preemptively) rubbed the back of her hand.

"That drink will dull the pain," the solicitor noted.

Lily nodded, and managed to sign in her own blood without any additional whining.

"Hey look at the bright side," her husband said, as they magically healed their cut skin. "As much as the Ministry's inheritance laws suck, there is at least one good thing about them."

"What's that?"

"That law that bars underaged witches and wizards from signing magical contracts means that Harry won't have to use one of the quills until he's an adult!"

Lily sighed. While that was admittedly a silver lining, it had a rather dull luster to it.

"Right then, that's all there is to it," the solicitor declared, rolling up the three parchment scrolls. "Ministry's records office is closed for the day, but we'll have these filed first thing tomorrow."

"Thank you, Robert," said James, as he rose to shake the older wizard's hand.

"Is post owl sufficient for sending your Ministry-stamped copies?"

Husband and wife looked at each other and held a silent conversation. James then nodded, turned to their solicitor, and shook his head.

"We have a mail box set up at Gringotts…best that you send the copies there."

"Fair enough," the older replied, as he wished James and Lily good luck, and escorted them out of the office.

The bells that hung over the doorway earned one final glare from James they stepped back onto the street.

"Give it a rest, Dear," said Lily, pulling her husband down towards the main Alley.

"But it's just not very prudent…"

"And it's just five and we have a couple of hours before our dinner reservations," Lily replied, slipping an arm around James' waist.

"What's that have to do with those bloody bells?"

Lily reached down and pinched her husband's bum.

"Look, we have a couple of hours all to ourselves…do you want to worry about ringing those bells, or ringing mine?"

"Huh?"

The Muggleborn giggled, then began to softly sing a tune.

"_You can ring my bell…ell…ell…ring my bell! You can ring my bell…ell…ell…ring my bell!"_

James frowned.

"You're not thinking of hanging something like those bells over the doors of any of our houses, are you?"

Lilly rolled her eyes, and sang a little more loudly.

"_You can ring my bell, anytime, anywhere…Ring it! Ring it…Ring it ring it aaaaaaaaah!"_

James eyes lit up in recognition. "So you want to go a Muggle discotheque, then?"

His wife did a face palm.

"You are so lovingly clueless," she stated.

James smiled. "Thanks…I guess."

Lily chuckled as she hooked her arm into his and began to walk again.

"Let me put it this way, then," she asked. "Most of what we just did back there was in case Harry becomes the last Potter, right?"

"Erm…right?"

"So why don't we tackle that problem of there being just one Potter heir by trying to make a second?"

"Ah! I get it!" James loudly declared, with a wide grin on his face.

"Not until we get back to Rowan Hill, Dear," Lily quipped.

James expressed both his complete agreement and complete cooperation.

Harry's parents had by now walked out into Diagon Alley proper, and joined the queue of witches and wizards wishing to use the Auror-guarded outbound apparition point. They waited quietly in that line for four or five minutes, until James suddenly broke into a fit of giggles.

"What?" Lily hissed.

"Ring your bell…I get it now."

"Took you that long?"

James replied with a well-practiced combination of shoulder shrug and rakish grin. He then leaned towards his wife and whispered into her ear.

"Sorry…had something else on my mind," he whispered. Nuzzling Lily's ear, he then quipped, "Although…guess it turns out to be the same thing, huh?"

Lily sighed. Lily then created some space by elbowing James in the ribs.

"How about a little constant vigilance?" she hissed, as her eyes darted towards those waiting both in front of and behind them.

James nodded, as he desperately tried not to laugh out loud at a joke involving a three-way tryst with Mad-Eye Moody…a joke that he only dared to voice in his head.

**oo00OO00oo**

_**Godric's Hollow, a few weeks later**_

The sleek Jaguar XJ caused heads to turn as it left the A38 motorway and headed south on the B3130…a car that luxurious and that expensive wasn't something that you saw everyday in the rural parts of the West Country. The local residents would have been even more obvious in their gawking had they been able to see through the saloon's black-tinted windows…and spotted the wide-eyed goblin who was gawking back at them with just as much curiosity.

"Chokebar….Chokebar! What's that over there?"

The other passenger, whose eyes were focused on a ledger rather than out the window, growled dangerously.

"Erm, sorry, Sir."

The older goblin glanced up from the columns of numbers and sighed.

"I will excuse your impertinence, Brainbleed, given your enthusiasm for expanding your knowledge of the human's world and my recent change in status."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Just don't make a habit of it."

"Yes, Sir….won't happen again, Sir."

Chokebar, Gringotts Wizarding Banks' newest Senior Account Manager, accepted his subordinate's apology with a simple nod of his head. He looked past the younger goblin and said, "We are now in a relatively undeveloped area of sun-touched lands whose profit potential rests primarily in their ability to support agricultural development…what was it that caught your attention?"

"Those hairy knobs over there in the…what are those indefensible areas called again?"

"They are called _'fields" _in English," the older goblin replied. "Called the same in Gobblygook, for that matter…not like we have anything comparable below."

"F-f-fields," Brainbleed tried to pronounce.

Chokebar chuckled and shook his head. "You are trying too hard…you don't have to draw blood to make that 'eff' sound."

"Yes, Sir," the younger goblin replied, licking the blood off of his lower lip.

"Now, then… those hair-covered rock knobs are actually mounds of cut grass. They are called 'haystacks'."

"_Hay-stacks_," Brainbleed repeated in English. He then switched back to Gobblygook and asked, "What is a haystack's purpose, Sir?"

"Forage for the standing meat," Chokebar replied. "The cut grass is dried and gathered in those mounds for when the cold white waters cover the land."

"You mean…does it really_ 'snow'_ here?"

Chokebar shrugged. "I don't know. But in either case, those haystacks are also useful cover for observation and surveillance activities…once they are warded against fire, of course."

"Ah…thank you for the valuable information, Sir. May the blood of your enemies drip from my blade as compensation."

The older goblin smiled, and reached out to pat his companion's knee.

"I'll settle for having your focus and obedience for the duration of this mission, Brainbleed."

"Yes, Sir."

The conversation was interrupted when their Squib driver announced that they were about to arrive at their destination. Chokebar acknowledged this comment, then turned to his subordinate.

"You have read the intel on this gathering place called Godric's Hollow?"

"Yes, Sir. Godric's Hollow is a Level Two mixed community of magical and non-magical humans. There are nine wizard-owned residences and six active floo connections within ten track-lengths of the central gathering point. One of the properties without a connection is a relatively small, lightly-warded cottage that is part of your trust's real estate portfolio. The intelligence report states that your clients rarely make use of this property…it is considered a rest home."

Chokebar snorted. "The humans call it a '_vacation_' house, Brainbleed. "

"Va-ca-tion," the younger Goblin spat. "What a horrid term…what a horrid concept!"

"And yet it is something that you'll have to familiarize yourself with if you ever wish to rise out of the junior executive ranks and work with human clients," Chokebar observed. "Moving on, then…security concerns?"

Brainbleed shrugged. "Godric's Hollow was within the area of transient acquisition during the _Kobold Haus_ hostile takeover attempt of 1563. Nothing since then, Sir."

Chokebar rolled his eyes. "Are you an employee of _Gringotts Wizarding Bank_ or _Gringotts House of Greed_?"

"The Wizarding Bank, Sir."

"And are the clients that we are meeting with wizards or goblins?"

"Wizards, Sir."

"So maybe you should worry just a little about our client's security concerns?" Chokebar hissed. "Given…you know…the fact that they are having a bit of a squabble topside right now, or the fact that our clients have been targeted by one of the factions several different times?"

"Yes, Sir. Sorry again, Sir."

Chokebar sighed. "Brainbleed…do you have any idea why I chose you to accompany me on this mission?"

"Erm…well, Sir…."

"You can speak freely, Brainbleed."

The younger goblin arched an eyebrow and held his breath for a moment as he mulled over this invitation.

"I am not worthy of imagining your reasons, Sir."

"Well, then…imagine yourself in my position…and answer the damn question!"

Brainbleed snorted.

"Yes, Sir….in that case, I imagine that you chose me for this mission because your secretary couldn't go topside. And you could use a bodyguard wielding an extra hammer, especially while you are still recovering from your promotion. And you need that hammer wielded by someone who has relatively little to gain by stabbing you in the back with his blade."

Chokebar growled under his breath at the insinuation that he was still weakened by his promotional wounds, but didn't act on that challenge, as he had asked the junior executive to speak freely. So he nodded his head, looked out the window, and said, "You forgot to mention that I also needed someone who was smart enough to be able to make that reasoned assessment."

"Yes, Sir….thank you, Sir."

The Squib driver stopped the car thirty meters short of the front entrance to their meeting place. He looked up into the rear view mirror, and asked, "Shall I go ahead on foot, Sir?"

Chokebar shook his head.

"There should be a path on the far side of the garden wall," he stated. "Take us around to the back of the property…and stop in front of the gate that is wide enough for this cart to roll through."

"It's a '_car_', Sir." Brainbleed whispered.

His superior scowled. "So, now you deign give _me_ English lessons?"

"Erm, no, Sir. Sorry, Sir."

As the Squib brought the car around to the back of the cottage, Chokebar reached down and pulled off the cloth cover to a small metal cage that sat on the car floor. He sat this cage on his lap, opened its door, and, once the driver pulled up to the wrought-iron rear gate, gingerly retrieved the white dove that was perched within it.

"What's that for, Sir?" asked Brainbleed, as the Squib used the electronic remote to open the rear passenger-side door.

"To send a message," Chokebar replied, as he released the bird out the window.

"But there was no message attached to its leg?"

"The bird _is _the message, you dolt!"

"Ah…a pre-arranged signal then?"

"Watch," Chokebar barked.

Brainbleed's question was answered when the iron gate began to swing open.

The younger goblin's heart rate increased as the driver pulled their vehicle onto the property. It was one thing to be topside within the confines of a Muggle automobile…quite another to venture outside of that confined space and stand out in the open on sun-kissed land.

Goblin society wasn't big on the recognition and treatment of mental health issues. Agoraphobia was a notable (and understandable) exception.

"Get that hand away from your hammer, Brainbleed," the other goblin advised. "You can be certain that there is at least one wand pointing towards us right now."

"Erm…yes, Sir."

Chokebar grinned, correctly guessing the source of his protege's unease. He leaned forward towards the driver and said, "Pull as close as you can reasonably get to their back door."

"Yes, Sir," the Squib replied.

Once the car stopped, Brainbleed steeled his nerves and quickly dashed outside. He was halfway to the cottage's door before he realized that he couldn't enter the welcomed confines behind it until Chokebar did, so he ran around to the other side of the car and yanked open that door.

The older goblin's gaze narrowed when Brainbleed offered him a hand.

"I will assume that this is a sign of respect for my station, and has nothing to do with my physical abilities at present time?" he asked.

"Of course, Sir," Brainbleed said deferentially, leaning his back against the Jaguar's rear quarter panel.

Chokebar's eyes twinkled. "Are you worried about being seen by the Muggles, then?" he asked. "Forgot the fact that we are now inside the property's Muggle Notice-Me-Not wards?"

The younger goblin looked around and winced.

"Better safe than gutted, Sir?" he asked.

Chokebar rolled his eyes as he stepped out of the car, and tried not to favor his leg too obviously as they covered the short distance to the cottage's back door.

**oo00OO00oo**

"We apologize for the informality," said Lily, once their two guests had been welcomed inside. "We've been trying to stay away from London, given the current situation."

"And this is the closest one family's property to a Prescott's branch," James added with a wry smile. He then offhandedly asked, "So how was the drive out from Bristol?"

Brainbleed stifled a small gasp when he heard this question. Chokebar merely arched an eyebrow.

"We were hoping that this meeting would be late enough to avoid the afternoon rush," offered Lily. "It didn't take longer than twenty or twenty-five minutes from the downtown branch, did it?"

"Something like that," Chokebar replied, using a guarded tone of voice.

James nodded. "Of course, with a car like that Jaguar, might be able to get here in almost half that time, if you were to push it."

"I'm not certain," Chokebar replied. "I will, however, ask our driver."

"Excellent," said James.

The small talk that actually wasn't all that small was interrupted by a small voice coming from the base of the stairs.

"Book!"

Lily let out a small gasp when she turned towards the voice and found her fourteen-month old son standing there in his pajamas, with his favorite blanket in one hand and a small stuffed hippogriff in the other.

"How did you get down those stairs, young man?" Lily asked.

"Wanna book!"

"I know, Harry, I promised you a book, but…"

"Wanna book!" Harry shouted, as his messy black hair began to stand on end.

Lily gritted her teeth. She turned towards their guests and apologized for her overtired, misbehaving son. Little Harry thought that his mother was ignoring him, so he stomped his foot and once again yelled, "Book!"

Harry was just as surprised as his parents and their guests when every book in the living room was either lifted off the coffee table or yanked off of a bookshelf. And when the toddler's gaze drifted away from his mother towards those hovering books, he spotted the two goblins, and realized that his parents were talking to people who didn't look at all like people.

The books suddenly crashed to the ground.

"_Wil__e tings!"_ Harry whispered wondrously.

"Harry James Potter! Right to bed!" Lily said firmly, forgetting for the moment that her son wasn't supposed to be going up or down stairs by himself.

"_Wile tings!"_ her son repeated, this time much more loudly. He began to giggle, and clapped his hands together.

"Right," Lily snapped, as she strode towards her son. But Harry didn't want to go to bed, so he darted away from her grasp.

"Wumpus!" he cried out joyfully. He then began to repeatedly tap his mouth with his opened hand, and shout "Woo-woo-woo-woo!"

"Harry James you come here this instant!"

"Wanna Wumpus!" Harry called back, ducking underneath a side table. The toddler looked directly towards the two goblins and asked, "Wumpus?"

James decided that the interruption and embarrassment had gone on long enough. He helped Lily corner their son, then pulled him out from behind a chair.

"Alright, you little wild thing, off to bed." he said (in a tone of voice that was just as bemused as embarrassed).

"I'll take him up James," Lily offered, as she pulled Harry into her arms. "You're the one holding the family purse strings."

Chokebar was quick to notice the disappointment in the witch's voice.

"Lady Potter?" he asked, taking a step towards her and holding out his arms. "Forgive me for being so bold, but perhaps….?"

Lily's eyes went wide. Her son's eyes twinkled.

"_Wile ting!"_ Harry whispered, twisting around in his mother's grip so that he could hold his arms down towards the goblin.

"Thank you for offering, Chokebar, but you don't have to….and I'm so sorry," Lily began to babble. "You see, we've never taken our son to Gringotts, and well, he has this favorite bedtime story..."

"Then we all have something to gain from this situation," Chokebar said with a smile.

"We do?" asked James.

Chokebar nodded. "I would like to meet with _both_ of my clients, your son would like to hear a bedtime story, and…my young protege, here, would like to practice his English."

Brainbleed's eyes went wide upon hearing this remark.

"Are you certain?" Lily asked.

"Absolutely," Chokebar replied, as he took the last (semi-painful) step towards mother and son and held up his arms.

Lily's eyes darted towards her husband's. He shrugged, and nodded his head. She then glanced towards the stairs, and considered Chokebar's pronounced limp.

"Why don't we all go upstairs?" she asked. "Part of the reason for meeting was to give you a full tour of this cottage, and, well…the nursery is part of the cottage, right?"

Chokebar smiled, and let his hands drop to his side. The mother's protective nature was admirable…as was her tact (for he'd seen her glance at his leg).

"Book?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Dear," Lily replied, as she turned and headed towards the stairwell.

Being held against his mother's shoulder meant that Harry had a backwards-facing view. He used this vantage point to catch Chokebar's eye and call out, "Woo-woo-woo!"

Chokebar smiled, then turned towards his protege.

"After you?" he half-asked, half-ordered.

Brainbleed stared at his superior, all the way to the stairs.

The nursery had all of the standard things that one would find in the nursery of a comfortably well-off family. There were also a few very nonstandard magical things, but these other things were kept inside a small wooden trunk that was charmed shut and hidden away in the closet, where they were (usually) out of sight, out of mind, and out of the reach of accidental magic.

Lily tried not to grin too widely as she turned towards Brainbleed and gestured towards a rocking chair that sat in between Harry's crib and the window.

"We usually read to Harry while sitting there," she mentioned.

Brainbleed gave a skeptical glance towards the piece of human furniture, then looked back over his shoulder. The look on his superior's face left little doubt about his expectations.

"I'll hold your weapons," Chokebar said, gesturing towards his subordinate's belt.

Brainbleed glanced down, and nodded in understanding. He pulled his warhammer out of his belt, then slowly unbuckled his belt so that he could hand over his dagger while it was still in its sheath.

"Show some balls, will you?" Chokebar hissed.

The sound of a stifled snort from James's nose reminded both goblins that his dossier had noted a near-fluency in Gobblygook.

The junior executive approached the rocking chair like a condemned prisoner faced a dragon's opened mouth. He reached for the armrests as he started to lower himself onto the seat, then lost his balance and almost fell to the floor when his weight caused the rocker to rock forward.

The raucous laughter that was brought up from Chokebar's belly allowed James and Lily to similarly express their amusement.

James felt bad enough for the other goblin to walk up to the rocking chair and hold the back steady for him.

"Guess they don't have this sort of thing below?" he asked.

Brainbleed snorted, and shook his head as he made a more successful second attempt at sitting down. James let go and let the goblin find a steady balance point while his wife walked over to small bookcase. On top of that shelf was a book that was far too popular to be shelved.

"It's his favorite," Lily explained, as she showed the cover to the two goblins. "I'm sure that's why he is acting this way…not that it excuses our son's behavior."

Chokebar shook his head.

"Children are to be cherished," he replied. "_All_ children, whether they live topside or below." Chokebar then chuckled, and added, "And for this child to reach his arms out to us at first glance? Perhaps you might imagine a more typical response from little wizards and witches when they first visit the Bank."

Not waiting for a response, the account manager turned towards the rocking chair and asked, "Are you secure enough to handle a child?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Yes, well, I appreciate you doing this for me, Brainbleed," said Lily, as she gingerly placed him down upon the nervous goblin's lap.

Harry's mum shook her head in disbelief when she stepped back and watched him settle onto Brainbleed's lap and giggle.

"Even more proof that he's a wizard," Lily muttered. She smiled, and explained, "Last Christmas we took him to a department store to have his picture taken with Father Christmas, and he cried and screamed and squirmed the entire time."

James laughed as Lily tucked Harry's blanket under Brainbleed's arm, then handed the goblin her son's favorite book.

"So maybe this should be this year's Holiday picture, then?" he joked.

Lily's eyes darted towards her husband's.

"Why, that's a wonderful idea, James!" she declared. "Quick! Go get the camera!"

Brainbleed eyes darted towards the other goblins, in an expression that was part pleading and part deer-caught-in-the-headlights.

"Start reading," Chokebar ordered.

The junior executive sighed, and reluctantly opened the book to the first page of text. In halting English, he read, "The night Max wore his wolf suit, and mischief of one kind, and another, his mother called him…"

"_**Wile ting!"**_

Brainbleed looked up from the page towards the child that had just joined along. Harry smiled back.

The goblin glanced back down at the page.

"And Max said…"

"_**I eat you up!" **_

Brainbleed actually smiled when the human child voiced that promise.

"So he was sent to bed, without eating anything…."

As the pages were turned and the story unfolded, Brainbleed tried not to flinch when he heard a camera click….or when he overheard Chokebar offering the Potters good galleons for a copy of the photograph that had just been taken.

**oo00OO00oo**

It was dark by the time that the Jaguar XJ backed out of the gate and began its short trip back into the city center…too dark for Brainbleed to find new things to gawk at as he stared out the tinted windows.

Not that he didn't already have enough things to occupy his thoughts.

"So what did you think of the meeting?" Chokebar asked.

Brainbleed snorted. "I think that you would have been better off bringing your secretary…Sir."

Chokebar ignored the subordinate's tone of voice and shook his head.

"No, Malice wouldn't have worked out at all," he replied.

"But she has the bits to be a nursemaid," Brainbleed replied.

"And doesn't speak a word of their language," Chokebar countered. "And while she is quick with a knife and even quicker to service me…well, she isn't the brightest crystal in the cavern, is she?"

Brainbleed shook his head.

"No, Sir."

"So what is your initial assessment of my clients, then?"

The junior executive frowned.

"The child…he did magic without a wand…is that common for a human that young?"

Chokebar shrugged. "I had no idea, actually. Something for others to mull over back at the office. Although…given the breeding stock?"

"Yes, Sir. They were the top students in their class-year," Brainbleed stated.

"Were there any other incidents like that while you were reading to the child?"

"Not that I am aware of, Sir," Brainbleed replied. "He fell asleep as I was reading the story a seventh time."

"Seven times?"

Brainbleed shrugged. "The child was insistent…and participatory. Is that level of verbal skills common in humans that young?"

Chokebar chuckled. "You are asking me? My time topside was devoted to corporate takeovers, not humanology. I expect you to provide me with answers to both of your questions."

"Me, Sir?"

"Must be human books that describe routine patterns in infant growth and development," Chokebar replied. "Think of it as another opportunity to practice your English."

"Yes, Sir."

"So, what about the parents?"

"I didn't really have all that much time to observe them, Sir."

"Of course you did!" Chokebar declared. "They revealed a great deal while you were still downstairs."

"Really, Sir?"

"Did your ears fail you when they were hit with the English?"

"No, Sir, I'm pretty certain that I understood most all of what was said."

Chokebar nodded.

"Well, then…you should be able to tell me why we met them in one of the smallest, least-protected properties in the portfolio."

"It seemed to me that they are living there now, Sir."

"Based on what evidence?"

Brainbleed shrugged. "The house appeared lived in. The female told us that the moving chair was where they usually read to the child. The child appeared to be comfortable within his living area."

"But the Potters are well off," countered Chokebar. "They have four different residences to choose from, and based on our Trust inventories there are certain pieces of furniture that are located within each one."

"So there are similar furnishing in each residence?" asked Brainbleed. "Why bother moving from one to the other, then, Sir?"

"Security?" asked Chokebar. "But that is conjecture. Focus on the facts as they were provided to you."

"They said that the meeting location was selected for our convenience, Sir. That it was the residence closest to our tracks."

"No, Brainbleed," said Chokebar. "What they said was that the cottage was the property closest to a branch of Prescott's."

"So….they know that we own and operate that Muggle bank?"

"That's not much of a secret for those humans who care enough to notice," scoffed the older goblin. "Do you think Lord and Lady Potter care enough to notice us?"

"Of course, Sir. It was rather…extraordinary…that they trusted me enough to leave me alone with their son."

"Ah, but that is the very reason why we are managing the Potter Trust, my young friend."

"Really, Sir?" Brainbleed asked. "Are we now including babysitting services within the bank's scope of services?"

Chokebar chuckled. "Yes, actually…in a way we are."

"I don't understand, Sir."

The older goblin gathered his thoughts for a moment before responding.

"Brainbleed," he finally replied, "while I was downstairs discussing investment strategies for the Trust, you were upstairs protecting something that is a hundred times more valuable to them…something valuable enough for them to willingly pay hundreds of thousands of galleons each year to safeguard."

Brainbleed grinned. "Well, if that is what the humans are willing to pay for a babysitter…"

"Then you would have to fight me for the right to submit your resume," Chokebar quipped.

The senior account manager then turned far more serious, and said, "Now then, Brainbleed, I am going to share with you a few extra pieces of information…and if you can't use them to figure out why the Potters are wily enough to be goblins then I'll curse my misguided belief that you are worth my time and feed you to the dragons myself…got it?"

Brainbleed sucked in a deep breath. His mind raced back and forth between wondering what that information might be, and wondering if Chokebar's temporary handicaps were large enough to give him even a fighting chance to challenge the senior account manager.

"Yes, Sir," he said cautiously.

Chokebar nodded. "First, consider the fact that we were offered obscenely high fees by the Potters to manage their Trust….probably a dozen times greater than what we could reasonably expect as payment were a similar amount of money deposited by the Ministry of Magic….are you with me here?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Second fact…we just visited the entire Potter clan tonight. It's just the three of them, and if they all die before another child is born or before the heir reaches adulthood, then their Ministry will confiscate the entire estate and shut down the Trust."

Brainbleed sucked in a deep breath. "They can do that, Sir?"

Chokebar nodded. "They already have to other human clans."

"Those magnificent, money-grubbing sons of bitches!" Brainbleed declared, his admiration ringing through his voice.

"Indeed," Chokebar replied. "So how many galleons would Gringotts lose if the Potter line ends? How quickly would I lose my head if they all lost theirs?"

"But they can't expect us to provide bodyguards, can they?" Brainbleed asked, going half-way towards connecting all the dots. "There are the treaties to honor…and the Nation's commitment to profits above partisanship?"

"Yes there are," said Chokebar. "We can't openly provide security services to my clients beyond the creation of passive wards. At least nothing aboveground."

"We can offer humans sanctuary within our caverns?"

"No…at least not at the moment," Chokebar replied. "Might be something for the Board of Directors to consider once I issue my first report on the Trust, but in the meantime…"

"What are you planning on doing, Sir?" Brainbleed asked.

"You tell me, Idoit!" Chokebar replied. "Think!"

"Yes, Sir."

The senior account manager let out a deep breath.

"Think back to that off-hand comment made by both Potters about that cottage being close to a Prescott's branch," he told his young protege. "And once we get to the Bristol branch, and go below to the track head, and get in the cart that brings us back to the home caverns in but a few minutes, ask yourself why…why let it slip that they know we travel across Britain by tunneling beneath it? And why, when they showed me their basement, did they have close to a years' worth of food supplies stored there…and why was that basement twice as large as the rest of the cottage?"

"Twice as large?"

Chokebar snorted. "Big enough to fit one of our smaller cart stations within it."

Nothing more was said during the remainder of the short trip back to the goblin-owned Muggle bank. The Squib driver who worked at that branch steered the car into the underground garage, and pulled up in front of the long set of stairs that led down to the tunnel track.

Brainbleed thought that he had figured out enough of Chokebar's riddle during that time to save himself from becoming dragon snacks, but he still thought that it wouldn't hurt to try to get more information out of the bastard.

"So, Sir…I'm not very good judging topside distances," he admitted, as they started down the stairs. "How far was it from here to Godric's Hollow?"

Chokebar snorted. "About thirteen of their miles...forty-five track lengths."

"Thank you, Sir," Brainbleed replied.

Gringotts identification gemstones were used to get past the warded door at the base of the stairs and into the subterranean system of tunnels that linked every major city in Great Britain.

Brainbleed reached out and dragged his fingernails across the wall just as soon as Muggle concrete was replaced by bare stone.

"Soft rock," he noted. "I think that you could probably dig two track-lengths a day through this stuff."

Chokebar nodded his head, and let out a hearty chuckle.

"And I think, Brainbleed, that I chose the right companion for this trip after all."

The two goblins spent the next five minutes racing across the charmed tracks that led back towards London, and the next five hours drawing up contingency plans and cost estimates.

**oo00OO00oo**

**A/N: **This story started as a back-story for "A Boon for Bill." And then it grew into a stand-alone prequel, and then….it really took off, and gave me the chance to write an homage to what is probably still my most favorite book in the entire world (think it's complete coincidence that my only son's given name is Max?). So now I'm torn…torn between bending this story close enough to canon to serve as a prequel for "Boon for Bill," and taking this story where it seems to want to go…to a place where young Harry is, if not raised by goblins, at least looked after by them once tragedy strikes and he becomes the last Potter. To a place where the cupboard under the stairs becomes a sanctuary for a real-life King of the Wild Things. Any opinions offered on which path to follow would be welcomed.


	2. Chapter 2: The Dirk of D'oh!

**Where the Wild Things Bank****  
an HP fanfic by canoncansodoff**

**A/N: (1) **The goblin society and working environment within Gringotts in this AU is sexist, patriarchal, and demeaning to women...an amped-up version of what it was like fifty years ago on Madison Avenue for "Mad Men" and their secretaries. Needless to say, the attitudes expressed are nowhere close to those held by the author. **(2)** This stand-alone story (and yes, I've made that decision) is just as much about goblin society as it is an alternative version of how Harry is raised. His upbringing is going reflect choices/decisions/arguments made both within Gringotts and between the goblins and external parties (i.e. Dumbledore). So you can expect a subequal split of scenes involving topside wizards and the goblins below ground. **(3) **A warning/heads-up that this chapter has some big emotional/angsty swings. It's hard to write (and, perhaps, to read) a humor/adventure retelling of the night Harry lost his parents. **(4)** Those wondering about my characterization of Voldemort…please recall that he was human before Halloween 1981. **(5) **Big thanks to ironchefor, mariusdarkwolf, and clell for their help with earlier drafts of different sections of this update.

**Disclaimer: **Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 2: The Dirk of D'oh!**

**oo00OO00oo**

_**Nottingham Caverns  
13 October, 1981**_

Two wizards walked out of a portkey's rainbow-spray of lights and into a large excavated area located one-hundred feet beneath the city of Nottingham. The dirt floor had been previously cleared to form a circle of ninety-foot radius, with the remains of an early nineteenth-century Muggle tannery operation piled up high along its perimeter.

"Come along Jensen, no time to dawdle," said He-Who-Once-Was-Named-Tom, as strode towards the center of the cleared area.

"Yes, My Lord."

Once Voldemort reached the middle, he reached into his pocket and pulled out two pieces of dollhouse-sized furniture. Cancelled shrinking charms returned the chair and table to original size.

"Have a seat, Jensen," the Dark Lord ordered. As his minion complied, Voldemort asked, "You did tell me that your favorite pudding was treacle tart, didn't you, Jensen?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"Good, good," said Voldemort, as he pulled a string-wrapped cardboard box from a different pocket and set it down on the table. "Now, I've brought you here to test your loyalty."

The Death Eater was about to protest and profess his unwavering support for his master, but held his tongue when he remembered what happened the last time a minion did that. So he chose instead to place his own wand on the table, and to bow his head in subservience.

"Such good manners, Jensen!" said Voldemort. "I'm sure you'll be up for this test."

"Thank you, My Lord."

"You're welcome, Jensen. So here is the test. Inside that box is a double-sized serving of what I've been assured is the most delicious treacle tart in all of England. I want you to open that box, but I do not want you to take a bite…understand?"

The minion tried not to cock his head in confusion as he complied with this request and gently lifted the pie-shaped pastry out of the box.

"Doesn't it look tasty, Jensen?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"But that is my treacle tart, Jensen," Voldemort stated. "I will _Crucio _anyone who tries to eat it…do you understand?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"Excellent…now, then…I want you to put this hat on your head."

The minion found himself even more confused, and found it even harder not to reveal that emotion, when the Dark Lord handed him a flattened, metallic triangular-shaped hat. Had the minion not been a Pureblood, he might have wondered why the Dark Lord had given him something fashioned out of Muggle tin-foil. That hat still looked odd, though, even if he did not know its composition… but he was a good little minion, so he did what he was asked.

"Excellent, excellent," said Voldemort. He then pulled out a dagger in a jewel-encrusted scabbard and set it next to the treacle tart.

"I want you to pull that dagger out from its sheath, but not until I tell you to," the Dark Lord warned.

"Yes, My Lord."

Voldemort turned away from his minion, and paced off a distance of sixty-feet, placing him much closer to the edge of the cleared circle than its center.

"Still not planning on eating my treacle tart, Jensen?" he called back.

"No, My Lord."

"Why not?"

The minion looked at the tart sitting in front of him and winced.

"Because you told me not to, My Lord, and said that you would curse me if I did."

Voldemort acknowledged this response with a head nod, then pulled out and expanded his own chair. He took a seat, and then said, "You can now unsheathe that dagger, now."

Jensen glanced down at the jewel-encrusted scabbard and followed instructions. He didn't notice his master cast a _Tempus_ charm…but what he did immediately notice once the goblin-blade was exposed was an irresistible urge to eat some of that tart.

He resisted, as best he could.

"Don't do it, Jensen!" Voldemort yelled, as he watched his minion's hands begin to tremble and eyes bulged. "Keep your wits about you!"

"I'm…..I'm…trying to…My Lord!" Jensen hissed.

The minion struggled mightily to retain his common sense, only to see it eventually slip through his fingers.

"Gah!" Jensen yelled, as he grabbed the dagger and used the flat its blade to scoop up a generous portion of the tart.

"Bollocks," hissed Voldemort, as he cast another _Tempus_ charm. "Still less than a minute."

"Jensen?"

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Whose treacle tart is that?"

"Yours, My Lord."

"And what did I warn you would happen if you ate my tart?"

"You're going to _Crucio _me."

"So why are you eating my pudding?"

"It is my favorite, My Lord...and this is the best tart I've had in my life."

"Ah, I see. You know, there should have been a fork in that box, Jensen."

"Oh, so there is! Thank you, My Lord."

"So why don't you wipe off that dagger blade and slip it back into its sheath?"

"As you wish, My Lord."

Voldemort rolled his eyes as he watched his minion continue to scoop pudding with the flat of the blade. It wasn't a big surprise…after all, it was common sense for a Death Eater to obey his simple commands.

Jensen eventually proved that he had more willpower than any of the other test subjects by sheathing the dagger after Voldemort's third request. His response, once hilt met scabbard was as predictable as it was immediate.

"Oh, bugger!" he gasped, looking down at the half-eaten tart.

"Why did you eat my treacle tart?" Voldemort asked, as he began walking towards the table.

"I don't know why, My Lord! I knew that not eating it was the sensible thing to do, but then…it just didn't matter."

"And now?"

"Now I know that it was the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life."

The Death Eater left both wand and dagger on the table as he pushed away and dropped to his knees in front of Voldemort.

"Forgive me, My Lord…I know not what magic ensnared me."

Voldemort snorted. "Well, Jensen…I don't know if eating my pudding really was the stupidest thing you've ever done in your life… but I do know that it was the last."

"No, My Lord, I beg you…"

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

The Dark Lord waited until the corpse hit the dirt floor before reaching down and retrieving the tin-foil hat. He regretted the fact that he had to kill his test subjects…not because he regretted killing, but because a much better method would have been to use the same test subject after each experimental adjustment. But he couldn't afford having anyone else know about the cursed dagger…nobody else could know that even the strongest Occlumency shields couldn't stop the exposed blade from magically absorbing all common sense within a fifty-foot radius.

They couldn't know that the blade worked against the Dark Lord as readily as any other witch or wizard. And while Voldemort never really _needed_ a reason to kill, protecting that secret was a better reason than most.

"Forty-five seconds," he muttered, as he walked back to the table and pocketed the cursed blade. "Good, but not good enough."

The Dark Lord sat at the table, pulled out a leather-bound notebook and a self-inking quill, and jotted down his experimental observations. He was almost out of ideas on how to lengthen the resistance time of the charmed hat, and was beginning to think that he might have to rethink the type of mission for which "The Dirk of D'oh!" would prove useful.

Once he was finished, Voldemort reached out and scooped out some treacle tart with a finger.

"Hmmm, that is good," he moaned, as he licked that finger clean. The Dark Lord turned towards the corpse and snorted.

"Well, Jensen," he told the lifeless body. "Let it not be said that I didn't give you a decent last meal."

**oo00OO00oo**

_**Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Division of Investment Management, Accounts Section  
15 October, 1981  
**_  
A thin smile formed on the lips of Potter Trust manager as he sat in his stone-walled office and reviewed a balance sheet. He had done well in the first thirty days as Senior Account Manager for the Potter Trust…made money for himself, for Gringotts, and for his clients. About the only thing that hadn't gone his way were his plans for extending the tunnel network from Bristol out to Godric's Hollow... his boss was in the cart, but getting approvals from managers in the other departments that would be involved was proving to be a challenge.

The smile that reflected the balance sheet's bottom line faltered only a fraction of an inch when the goblin felt the silent alarm go off...if an attack was coming, best that the assailant not realize that he'd been discovered.

Chokebar reached for the dagger that he kept underneath his desk drawer, and pressed the outside of his knee against the handle of his war hammer…fixing its position should he need to greet his visitor with something more than a six-inch long blade. He looked up to confirm that his office door was still closed, and then shifted his gaze towards a desk-mounted crystal that was charmed to show what might be lurking on the other side. He relaxed marginally when he spotted the reflection of the female office manager within the largest crystal face. She was definitely a threat, but not the immediate kind of peril that involved lethal accidents or extreme physical violence courtesy of those he had defeated in the Arena, the disgruntled former Potter account manager, or mischief-makers from the "Dark" faction of account managers.

He called for the female to enter when she scratched on the office door. She was content to stay within the doorway once she'd done so.

"Well, look who is working late tonight," she purred. "Shouldn't you be home by now?"

The Potter Trust manager shrugged, keeping a hand on his hidden dagger hilt. He flashed an innocent smile towards the doorway and shrugged.

"My first thirty-day report is due on Spleenchewer's desk tomorrow."

"But I thought you had little to worry about, Chokebar?"

"The day a senior account manager stops worrying is the day he gets marinated, Miss Moanhard."

The female goblin pouted, and placed her hands on her hips.

"It's Moan, Chokebar…you're not a junior executive anymore."

The account manager snorted, trying hard not to let his gaze drift down the barely-there dress that his dangerous guest was wearing.

"Sorry, Moan… the chisel marks are still rather fresh on the walls."

"They are, aren't they?" the female goblin replied, as she strode into the room and glanced around. "Nice job on the office decorations, by the way."

"Erm…thanks, but that's my secretary's doing."

The female goblin chuckled, and asked, "So Malice can do more than suck and stand sentry?"

"I wouldn't have picked her out of the steno pool if she couldn't."

"Well it certainly wasn't based on her age or good looks," the office manager replied. "Your choice raised a few eyebrows.…newbie managers typically pick the young girls with more tits than teeth."

"And how many of those little-head thinkers survive longer than a few quarters?" Chokebar asked. "A prudent account manager needs a secretary who can bury a blade just as easily as she can swallow a hilt."

Moanhard's eyes twinkled. "So you don't think you can have a knife-wielding, deep-throating secretary that's easy on the eyes too?"

"Not unless I'm willing to kill a boss to get her."

Moanhard winked as she glanced out into the empty reception area. Not seeing anyone, she said, "Why, thank you, Chokebar...I'll take that as a compliment."

The male goblin snorted and shook his head…reactions meant to disguise quick glances at both the opened door and his desk-mounted crystal.

"So, Moan…what can I do for you this evening?"

"Oh, quite a few things, I imagine," the female goblin purred.

Chokebar choked back a retort, thinking it better (and far healthier) to wait patiently for a different answer.

His guest sensed that she would need to provide that answer, so she tried again.

"I was just walking by, and noticed that Malice wasn't at her desk. But was still a light under your door, and since that almost never happens...thought I'd better check in on you and see if you were still breathing."

"Thank you for your concern. As you can see, I am fine."

"You certainly are…so where is the old battle-axe, then?"

"At home putting our son to bed, I imagine."

"No, I meant your secretary."

"Ah…I sent Malice home an hour ago."

Moanhard smiled.

"So sending the sentry off…guess you're feeling a little more secure in your shorts?" she quipped. "I suppose that a four-week 1.6% increase in the Potter Trust might have something to do with that."

Chokebar shrugged. "She did make sure that my strongest rivals had all signed out for the night before she left."

The female goblin pouted. "So do you think I'm a threat, Chokebar?"

"Why do you ask, Moan?"

"Because you still have a hand hidden under your desk…you're either holding a knife or I caught you in the middle of a wank."

Chokebar snorted, and shook his head.

"Are you sure you weren't rubbing off?" she asked. "Because that's what most account managers would do if they had that kind of balance sheet in front of them."

The other goblin chuckled, but didn't move his hand.

Moanhard pouted, and said, "Here…just to prove that I'm not here on a hit job."

Chokebar sucked in a deep breath when the female goblin reached down and pulled a very long weapon out from underneath a very short skirt.

Moanhard set this dagger down on the far edge of the desktop…out of her reach once she sat down in the chair that sat in front of Chokebar's desk. She spun it halfway around, so that the tip of its twelve-inch long blade faced towards her, and the butt end of eight-inch long handle faced Chokebar. Although "dick end" would have been a better description; the carved dragon's-tooth that formed the hilt was, by design, meant to be distracting. It was also designed to provide pleasure, given its life-like phallic form.

"Okay, Chokebar, I showed you mine…" teased Moanhard as she took her seat.

"Erm…right," he replied nervously. His guest had followed tradition and protocol, and was forcing Chokebar to do the same. He pulled his own dagger out from underneath his desk and leaned over to the opposite edge of the desk, placing the weapon butt-forward and out of his reach.

"Mine's bigger," Moanhard quipped.

Chokebar shrugged, wondering what kind of cowardly acts he must have committed in a prior life to place him in this situation. Sitting in his new office late at night…with the boss's mistress sitting across from his desk, and her razor-sharp dildo staring up at him from the edge of his desktop.

His eyes shifted from the dagger's bulbous grip end to the thigh-baring hem line that had ridden up above Moanhard's hips when she sat down and crossed her legs. There was no way that she could have hidden that weapon, unless it had been some kind of wizard magic…or it had been both hidden _and _ridden.

"Admiring my weaponry, Chokebar?"

The Potter Trust manager blushed…more in fear than in embarrassment. He looked up across the desk and said, "Sorry, I was just admiring…from a professional standpoint, mind you…your ability to conceal something that big under your dress."

Moanhard smiled in triumph as she glanced over towards the dagger. "Oh, it's really not that hard to hide that bad boy…so long as you're equipped with the right kind of sheath."

"Well, guess that rules me out, then," Chokebar quipped.

"Really?" Moanhard teased. "I thought you were in the Army?"

Chokebar's eyes narrowed.

"Army life isn't something to joke about," he growled. Gripping the edge of his desktop with both hands, he then added, "At least not within polite goblin society, and certainly not by a female who hasn't served."

Moanhard winced, realizing her mistake. Her high-ranking lover might have allowed that kind of question if it had been pillow talk, but being retired military himself meant that the Division Manager would also back Chokebar in this situation.

The female goblin dropped her gaze towards her barely-covered lap.

"I'm sorry, Sir. Would you like to spank me for my bad behavior?"

Chokebar thought for a moment, and then shook his head.

"That's something that is definitely above my pay grade."

Moanhard bit down on the inside of her cheeks to keep from smiling as she stood up, walked around to the side of Chokebar's desk, and bent forward, leaning low enough to cause her breasts to spill out of her top.

"But I deserve a spanking!" she teased, jiggling those breasts and wiggling her half-exposed bum.

Chokebar stared at what was being dangled before him for a few moments, then hissed, "You are such a distracting temptress!"

"Purposely distracting an account manager from his duties is cause for even more corrective action," she purred.

Chokebar snorted, then shook his head, "There's just one problem, though."

"What's that?"

"It's my testicles."

Moanhard rested her forearms onto the desk top which then allowed her to rest her breasts on her forearms (thrusting even closer to Chokebar's face).

"Something wrong with your testicles, Hun?"

"Yeah…I'm rather attached to them, and I'd like them to stay that way."

"Stay which way?"

"Attached."

Moanhard giggled hard enough to cause some serious jiggle.

"Oh, don't worry, Hun…I wouldn't gnaw on them that hard."

Chokebar sighed and shook his head. Then he walked out from behind his desk (along the side opposite of the prostrate temptress), and crossed over to the doorway. He looked out into the reception area, and seeing no one about, turned back inside.

The account manager leaned against the threshold and said, "It's not your teeth that I'm worried about…it's Spleenchewer's."

Moanhard laughed.

"No worries there...he lost his front teeth in battle."

"Didn't lose his axe blades, though…did he?"

The office manager held Chokebar's gaze for a moment, then shook her head.

"No, he still has those, alright," she replied. She smiled, and asked, "Come on back here, Chokebar. It's not safe for you to be that far away from your weapons."

The account manager shook his head as he gestured towards his office guest. "That may be so, but it is definitely not safe for me to be that close to _your _weapons."

Moanhard glanced down at her chest and giggled.

"Would it help if I holstered them?"

"That'd be a start."

The female goblin chuckled as she pushed herself up off Chokebar's desk and tucked herself back in. Then she walked over to his side table and poured out two stiff drinks from a crystal decanter.

"Come, have a drink with me," she asked. "We can toast your success."

Chokebar cautiously asked, "My success doing what, exactly?"

Moanhard smiled as she placed the two glasses onto the desktop, then leaned back against the front.

"Why…your successful return on investment, silly!" she teased. "What else have you succeeded in doing over the past month?"

"Well, I've managed to stay alive…up to now at least," he snarked. The account manager eyed her with caution and glanced back over his shoulder. Making sure that the office door remained wide open, Chokebar walked back behind his desk and sat down. Moanhard spun off the edge of the desk and took her own seat.

The nervous account manager sipped from his drink, and then casually asked, "So where is my Division Manager tonight?"

"Home with his family," Moanhard said wistfully. "It is rather late, you know."

"Yes, that's how our conversation started, isn't it?"

The female goblin sat quietly, trying to think of what they could talk about now that sex and spankings were off the table. Her eyes drifted over towards a framed picture that hung on one of bare rock walls. She gestured towards it with her drink glass.

"He knew that you would win."

Chokebar looked over towards the picture, which had been taken on the night that he had been named Potter Trust manager. It showed him standing bare-chested in the center of the Arena, triumphantly holding his blood-stained hammer in one hand, and the kind of gold silk vest favored by Gringotts' senior executives in the other.

He reached down, reflexively rubbed his still-healing thigh wound, and sighed.

"Well Spleenchewer must have been one of the few who thought I would win, given my longshot odds."

"Made him even richer when those odds paid off," Moanhard noted.

Chokebar nodded, and took another sip from his drink as he thought back to that day. The Division Manager (a.k.a. Moanhard's lover) had called Chokebar and three other junior account managers into his office, and informed them that Gringotts was about to take over a very lucrative and important account. The four goblins were told that from a financial standpoint they were all qualified to manage the Potter Trust…so equally qualified that Spleenchewer couldn't decide whom to select. So he left it up to them to settle the issue…in the Arena…battle royale style.

"Now I just have to prove that I can provide more than just entertainment value," Chokebar stated.

The female office manager smiled, and shook her head. "Well, you're well on the way…extend those 1.6% four-week returns out on a compounded annual basis, then figure our take…three percent of total Trust value, _plus_ 20% of any net profits? That's millions."

"Just short of a million, actually," Chokebar noted. "But I'm not going to count my basilisks before they're hatched." He then added, "Besides, any goblin…or wizard…smart enough to invest in the Muggle world could get that kind of return, given the absurdly high interest rates being offered by their banks."

"But only if one risks everything on the Muggle economy," the female goblin countered. "And the Potter Trust could never do that…it's got too many galleons tied up in businesses and other investments in the wizarding world, and a sizable portion of the Trust's assets are sitting in illiquid real estate holdings."

Chokebar's eyebrows arched towards his hairline. The female goblin, whose office responsibilities required absolutely no knowledge of investment strategies or financial planning, had just succinctly summarized the fiscal position of the Potter Trust.

Moanhard blushed and held her drink glass up to her lips to hide this reaction.

"What?" she asked. "So I hear things sometimes?"

Chokebar snorted. "Well, then…if that's the case, what have you heard about me?"

The female goblin chuckled. "That you're savvy, strong and incredibly well-hung?"

"Should I wonder just who provided you with that intelligence report?"

Moanhard laughed out loud. "Well, I do oversee the secretarial pool, don't I? Although, I should note that your secretary hasn't been one to shag and tell."

Chokebar nodded. "I told you that I had my reasons for pulling her from the pool."

"Both lethal and tight-lipped...unless, of course, those lips are wrapped around her boss. My, doesn't that sound like someone else I know?" Moanhard teased, as she licked her own lips.

"What did I say about keeping my testicles attached?"

"Fine," the female goblin pouted. "But don't think that I'm not going to keep my eye on you!"

"From a discreet distance, I hope?"

Moanhard laughed. "Well, you know that old saying about never shagging the boss's secretary?"

"A maxim I intend to follow religiously."

"That doesn't apply once _you _become the boss, though…right?"

"No, I don't suppose that it doesn't," Chokebar replied. He glanced up at the wall clock and added, "But until that day…"

"Right, I should go," the office manager replied, setting her drink on Chokebar's desk and retrieving her dagger.

Chokebar stood when she stood, and reached for his own dagger. He apologized for not walking her to the door. She smiled, and said that she understood. And she did…it would look marginally worse for Chokebar if someone spotted him by her side as she left his office, and he had a stronger defensive position from behind his desk.

Not that she intended to let the account manager off easy.

When Moanhard reached the opened doorway she looked out, then she glanced back over her shoulder and said, "All clear."

Chokebar nodded. "Thanks for the intel."

"You're welcome," Moanhard said with a wink. Then she turned to face back out the doorway and squatted down.

Chokebar proceeded to choke on some spittle as Moanhard sheathed her long-handled dagger. He couldn't see exactly how she did this, since her back was turned to him, but he did have a very active imagination. And she did have both a very long weapon and a very short skirt.

Once the blade disappeared, the female goblin stood back up, spun around and held out her arms, putting both her dress and her concealment skills on display.

"Ta-da!" she quipped. A smile formed on her lips as her eyes drifted over the front of Chokebar's trousers.

"Looks like I'm better at hiding big things down there than you are!"

Chokebar snorted. "So you're assuming that I'm trying to hide my big thing?"

The office manager pursed her lips seductively, then broke the pose and laughed.

"Like I said, Chokebar…once you're the boss, you don't have to worry about shagging the boss's mistress."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

"Is that all you'll be thinking about once I close this door?"

Chokebar dared to waggle his own eyebrows as he lifted a piece of parchment from his desk.

"Well, somebody seems to think that I have a wank-worthy balance sheet in hand."

The female goblin giggled, and said, "You know, I've still got a couple of girls from the pool here…in case you're a little…stressed…and kicking yourself for sending Malice home early?"

Chokebar snorted, and shook his head.

"Thanks, but I should be heading home."

Moanhard shrugged. "Well, if you change your mind about slumming some steno alongside the junior execs…"

Chokebar nodded. "I can remember how to get poolside…hasn't been that long since the promotion."

"And I'm betting that it won't be that long before your next promotion, either," Moanhard replied.

The account manager chuckled. "Maybe not, now that you've dangled some lovely incentives in front of me."

Moanhard smiled. "So they were motivational, then?"

"Oh, hell yes!"

"Good to hear," the female goblin replied. She grabbed the doorknob and asked, "Should I leave it open or…"

"Closed, please."

"Want me to sit at Malice's desk and guard the door for a few minutes, while you…?"

"While I pack my briefcase?"

"Well, that too…you do have two hands."

Chokebar snorted as he waved his hand and said a sing-songy, "Good night."

The departing guest giggled, then did the same.

The Potter Trust manager sat back down behind his desk as his boss's mistress closed the door behind her. He then spent the next five minutes cursing his own lack of proper focus, keeping a close eye on the desk-mounted crystal as he tidied up his office and packed up for the night.

**oo00OO00oo**

_**Potter Manor, Rowan Hill  
22 October, 1981**_

James and Lily Potter tried not to wear their emotions on the sleeves of their robes or to stare too obviously at the wall clock as they ate in the formal dining room of the Potter ancestral home. Dumbledore had brought them into his office at Hogwarts that afternoon and passed along information from a reliable source: Barty Crouch Sr.'s authorization for his Aurors to use Unforgivables had enraged Voldemort, and there were plans for retaliatory attacks on a massive scale. And those who had thrice defied him (and then some, since the birth of their son Harry) were at the top of the target list.

It was time to go to ground.

Once they finished the pudding, James let out a deep sigh, and then turned towards House Potter's head elf. The diminutive chief-of-staff wore a tunic that bore the family crest, and a red velvet hat that was trimmed with white fur.

"Santa, please have Clarice bring Harry to the sitting room, then summon all of the staff and ask that they meet us there."

"Yes, Master James," the head elf replied with a smile. He popped out for a few seconds to give instructions to the female house-elf who spent the most time minding the Potter scion, then popped back and cupped his hands to his mouth.

"On Dasher, On Dancer, On Prancer and Vixen!"

Lily frowned. "Why can't we stop pretending that he has to actually call their names out to summon them?"

James shrugged and smiled. "But what's the harm?" he asked.

"The harm will come when your son is old enough to realize that his father was silly enough to name the family's house-elfs after Father Christmas and his nine Yank reindeer!"

"Hey, it's a Potter family tradition," James protested. "And it was the easiest way for me to remember their names."

Lily shook her head. "I still don't believe the story of how a six-year-old British Pureblood boy…a Scion of an Ancient and Most Noble House, mind you…was exposed to Muggle stop-action animated television shows from the States."

"I guess the proof is in the Prancer, isn't it Dear?" James quipped. "And like I've always said, it could have been worse."

Lily snorted. "Thank your parents for little favors," she replied. "There's no way in hell that I would ever call for a house-elf who was named 'Poopy-head,' or 'Eye Farted' or 'My Pee-Pee'."

Her husband snickered.

"Oh, to be a six-year old again, and think that the funniest thing in the world would be to hear his mother ask where her pee-pee was."

"So when did you become mature enough for that joke to lose its humor?"

James pouted. "Would you deprive anyone the opportunity to smile in these dark days?"

Lily sighed, and muttered, "Merlin help the newborn house-elves that Harry gets to name. Every one of them will be called 'Wild Thing'."

"No problem…we'll just give them nicknames like 'Thing 1' and 'Thing 2'," James joked.

"Not unless we start reading more Dr. Seuss stories to him," quipped Lily.

That James had been given the opportunity over the years to borrow more than just the names of Santa and his nine reindeer was made clear when the head-elf called for Frosty, Charlie-in-the-box, and Burgermeister Meisterburger. The fact that young James Potter had been exposed to more than just Muggle Christmas programming was made clear when house-elves named Gumby, Pokey, and Peter Cottontail were summoned.

A total of nineteen house-elves answered the call from three different locations. A handful popped in a near-instant in from other parts of the Manor House. Two traveled the longest distance, being caretakers for the Potter beach villa in the Cyclades. The rest came from the estate in Burgundy, where they had been finishing their post-harvest work in the vineyards.

James and Lily's son went wide-eyed when Clarice brought him to the sitting room, dressed in his favorite hooded "wolf-suit" pajamas. He was just as excited to see the gathering of house-elves as they were to see him.

"Wumpus!" he cried, dashing towards the crowd of servants who weren't that much taller than he was.

A few of the less-disciplined (and more eager) house-elves responded to the toddler's call. Most, though, turned to James and Lily for instructions. Husband and wife looked towards each other and conversed wordlessly with facial expressions. Lily ended the conversation by shrugging and rolling her eyes at the same time. James hissed, "Yes!" then turned towards the assembly and loudly announced, "Let the Wild Rumpus Begin!"

"Yay!"

Santa put his foot down (sort of) and declared that there were other reasons for the gathering besides this Wild Rumpus. As a result, there were no vines hanging from ceilings or walls becoming the world all around. But this didn't stop the self-transfigurations or illusions that produced tails and beaks and feathers and horns.

And they roared terrible roars and gnashed terrible teeth and rolled terrible eyes and showed terrible claws.

Tears formed in Lily's eyes as she watched the house-elves take turns dancing with Harry, or carry him on their back while they yelled, "Woo-woo-woo-woo!"

"Hey now…none of that," said James, as he squeezed his wife's hand. "There's nothing final about what we'll be doing tonight…give it a few weeks, and then we can see about at least sharing the secret with Santa and Clarice."

Lily nodded, and tried to put on a brave face with a tight-lipped smile. That resolve was tested when her over-tired toddler fell asleep in his house-elf nanny's arms.

"Shall I put the young master to bed, Mistress?" she asked.

Harry's mother reached out her arms and shook her head.

"Thank you, Clarice, but I'll hold him for now."

The house-elf did as she was requested, then followed the lead of the others, who were reverting skin and clothing back to their less-wild forms.

There is nothing within a house-elf's range of magic that allows for clairvoyance or divination. That said, the gathered Potter servants didn't need those skills to know that something was wrong when both Master and Mistress began to thank them all for their years of devoted service. The ill-ease grew stronger when immediate plans were meshed with worst-case scenarios.

"The day that we had planned for but hoped wouldn't arrive has, in fact, arrived," said James. "Lily, Harry and I have to go away for a while."

"Oh, no!" was the general response, conveyed in a dozen different phrasings.

"Now we wouldn't be doing this, if we didn't think that it was the only way for us to stay safe," James continued. "And we've got a pretty good plan…but we just wanted to confirm that you are all willing to go along with it."

"Of course we are!" was the general response.

"No, no…we really want you all to think about this," said Lily. "You all know what would happen to you if something bad were to happen to the three of us."

"We won't let that happen!"

James nodded. "We know…we know…but we also care about each and every one of you too much not to worry about what has happened to other house-elves…what the Ministry did when the last McKinnon was killed by the Death Eaters."

The Potter's house-elves calmed down with this statement.

"You won't have any say over which family bought you," said Lily. "The Headmaster has promised us that he would try to bring you all to Hogwarts, but there's no guarantee…"

"So we have talked with a few families that we know will treat you the way you should be treated," said James. "The Bones family, the Abbotts and the Lovegoods have all expressed willingness if any of you would like to work for a lower-profile family."

The house-elves were quick to remove any doubt in the mind of their Master and Mistress that any of them considered this a viable option.

James pursed his lips. He hadn't expected any of the servants to ask for this option to be exercised, but that didn't make their decisions (and the associated risks) any easier to stomach.

"Very well, then," he stated. "We will need you all to carry on as you were…to act out each day as if it were no different than the rest. Those of you assigned to the Manor will act as if we are still here, even if we are not, so as to confuse any who wished us harm."

"Yes, Master," the house-elves replied as one.

"If something happens to me while we are away," continued James, "such that you need to renew your bonds with the next Head of House Potter…"

"No!"

"We must plan for the worst," James countered. "If any of you have problems renewing your bonds with Harry, make your way to Gringotts and ask for the goblin named Chokebar. He will, hopefully, be able to help you."

The house-elves reluctantly agreed to do as they were directed.

It then took a little more than one additional hour for Lily and James to talk with each of their house-elves, offering reassurances and providing comfort as necessary. The house-elves weren't at all eager to let their family go away without them, but were both smart enough to realize that it was the best of many bad options, and obedient enough to let the Potters leave without a fight.

James and Lily both let tears drip onto the ethereal plane that evening, as they apparated with Harry to Godric's Hollow, and into a very uncertain future.

**oo00OO00oo**

_**23 October, 1981**_

Voldemort was too shocked not to say the first thing to come to his mind when the tip of Peter Pettigrew's wand lit up.

"Well, fuck me!"

"Yes, My Lord," Peter replied, rising up off of his knees.

"No, I didn't mean that literally, you arse!" Voldemort hissed, as he planted his heel in the center of his minion's chest.

"Erm, yes, My Lord…sorry, My Lord!" Peter gasped, as he scurried back into a prostrate position.

The Dark Lord's response would have been far less scatological and far more magical had he not been caught so far off-guard. The claim had been so outlandish…so outrageously fortuitous…that he hadn't believed it, even after Peter had voluntarily sworn a magical oath attesting its veracity.

"So the Potters really did make you the secret keeper for their _Fidelius_ Charm, Pettigrew?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"You…rather than the blood-traitor Black?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"And they did this without asking you to bare your left arm, or swear a loyalty oath, or even swear a magical oath stating that you weren't one of my followers?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"Unbelievable."

"Erm…Yes, My Lord."

Voldemort lifted his wand and hit Pettigrew with a strong stunning charm. He then dismissed the two minions who had been standing back by the room's entrance, and locked the door behind them with some of his strongest security charms. Only then did he reach into his robe pocket and pull out the goblin-enchanted weapon known as the Dirk of D'oh!

It was still there. It was still in its scabbard.

The Dark Lord half-expected the Dirk of D'oh! to have somehow made its way into enemy hands, minus its sheath. Why would the Potters blindly trust Pettigrew...when they suspected that there was a spy within their Order's ranks…when they had the magical means to test whether he was worthy of their trust?

It was rather disappointing, actually…to have to accept the possibility that someone you thought was such a worthy adversary had done such a stupid thing.

Unless it was a trap?

Voldemort was tempted to test this most likely explanation by testing his minion's loyalty with another oath. But he resisted that temptation… someone like Pettigrew might fail that test and lose his life or magic for thinking that he had betrayed his master in some inconsequential, petty way. There was a different question, however, that was worth putting his minion to the test. It was too much of a coincidence that the Potters went into hiding the day after he had announced his intention to add their names to the list of terminated family lines. He also thought about demanding that Pettigrew swear an oath that he had not revealed the targeting of the Potter family to either the Potters or Dumbledore. But Voldemort decided against this course of action as well…at least not until the secret had been shared.

The thought of Peter sharing the secret with the Dark Lord prompted him to ask a different question...once he cast an _Ennervate _spell on his minion.

"So who have you shared this secret with, Pettigrew?"

"Just the three Potters, My Lord."

"Just those three?" Voldemort asked. "Not Sirius Black? Not Dumbledore?"

"Yes, My Lord…just those three."

"So have you simply not gotten around to telling them the secret?"

"No, My Lord. They said the whole point of switching Secret Keepers at the last moment was to keep Sirius from knowing…so that he could truthfully say that he didn't know their location if he was captured."

"What about Dumbledore?"

"I asked about him, My Lord. They said that they wanted to take a wait and see approach before telling the Headmaster."

Voldemort snorted. "That's interesting…very interesting. So if the Potters were attacked at their secret location, Dumbledore couldn't come to their rescue…not even if they sent him an emergency message."

"That's my understanding, My Lord."

"As if what you do or do not understand could serve as any kind of reliable benchmark," scoffed Voldemort.

"Yes, My Lord…do you wish me to tell you the secret?"

"Hmm…not right now, Pettigrew," said Voldemort. "They could come back and ask you to tell them if you shared the secret, and I wouldn't want you to lose your life if they demanded an oath to back up your response."

"Thank you, My Lord."

"In fact…best that nobody even know that you told me that you're the Secret Keeper."

"Yes, My Lord."

Voldemort rolled his eyes at his prostrate minion.

"Pettigrew?"

"Yes, My Lord?"

"This is the point where you display a bit of intelligence, and look me in the eye."

"Oh…sorry, My Lord."

"_Obliviate!"_

**oo00OO00oo**

_**Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Division of Investment Management, Accounts Section  
31 October, 1981**_

Chokebar locked up his office just after ten in the evening, giving himself plenty of time to get home and get ready for his clan's traditional _Fortisnight_ midnight dinner. Figuring that track traffic would be light, (given the holiday) he took a slight detour on his way to the employee cart house and stopped by his division's risk management center.

The goblin guarding the entrance to that specific cavern was friendly but thorough as he challenged Chokebar to provide his name, corporate rank and identification gemstone. The Division of Investment Management guarded the value of its secrets just as highly as any of the other divisions within the Wizarding Bank (while there was a good deal of interdepartmental cooperation that cooperation always came at a negotiated price).

Chokebar paused just on the other side of the heavy steel-reinforced portal, so that his eyes could adjust to the light that was radiating from the hundreds of foot-long, luminescent crystals that made up the "The Big Wall"... the Divison's first-alert system for tracking significant fluctuations in the accounts that it managed.

Each charmed crystal could be magically programmed to change colors or vary in brightness based on specific triggers. A common program resembled a Muggle stop light; if the investment was gaining value and/or profit it would turn green, and if it was losing value it would glow red. Crystal brightness could reflect the magnitude of change (either good or bad). They could even flash for specific triggering events. Or they could stop flashing if something good or bad was happening. Or glow red for good news and green for bad. Or strobe like a Muggle lighthouse lamp.

That there was no consistency or commonality in how each tracking crystal was programmed was intentional. There were thirty-seven Senior Account Managers with crystals growing out of "The Big Wall," and each had clients and investments that that were in conflict with at least a few of the other manager's clients and investments. Gringotts Wizarding Bank managed the financial system for the entirety of magical Britain; investment management services were available to all , irrespective of politics, lineage, or the kind of tattoos you might have on your forearm. With all of the tracking crystals growing on the same cavern wall, in full view of all of the other account managers, it was critical that each manager keep "the other side" from gaining valuable information about the health of their portfolio. Coming up with complex and secret combinations of colors and glow levels was one way that they accomplished this goal.

Of course, the down side to not having a common platform of interpretable colors and glow levels was that it was hard for individual managers to receive timely alerts whenever there was a material change in their portfolios. The division had at least two staff members monitoring the crystals night and day. These junior level employees had no idea what the different colors or glow intensities meant…they didn't even know which crystals an individual account manager controlled. Their job was to notify their non-partisan non-commissioned overseer (NCO) whenever there was a change in an individual crystal. The NCO, who knew which manager was linked to that crystal (but not the code or associated investment) would then send out a generic notification message to that manager, regardless of time or day.

Because knowledge is power and time is money, some account managers pooled their resources and paid staff salaries for their own independent monitors. These junior-level goblins would watch specific crystals on behalf of their patrons, and usually knew enough about each crystal's code to send out alert notifications that were both quicker and more detailed than what the Division's minions could provide.

There were only a dozen Gringotts clients that had investment portfolios that were large enough (and, more importantly, profitable enough) to warrant a dedicated Senior Account Manager. The smaller accounts were bundled together, with individual managers minding the portfolios of anywhere from two to twenty-two individual accounts. The goblins avoided most potential conflicts of interest by bundling based on a client's politics and social affiliations; the Lestrange brothers, for example, shared an account manager with the Nott family and Augustus Rookwood (that Rookwood was lumped in with other Death Eaters despite his "undercover" status just underscored how well-informed Gringotts was with respect to their clients).

This kind of bundling to avoid conflicts of interest also took place when groups of managers pooled their resources to pay for independent crystal tracking services. Nobody was surprised when Chokebar joined the "Light" faction of account managers after he won his promotion in the Arena; his clients were allied with other Light faction clients like the Longbottoms and the Abbotts. The Potter Trust's investment strategies also lined up… for example, families like the Longbottoms and Potters tended not to invest in the kind of Knockturn Alley businesses that formed the core of the Malfoy portfolio.

That Chokebar was one of the four employees offered the chance to fight for the Potter Trust was also no accident; he had aligned himself with the Light faction managers soon after his transfer into the Division four years previous, and had been mentored by Light faction senior manager. Chokebar had even been one of the faction's Big Wall monitors in the two years prior to his promotion. It was a common enough career path, which is why the Potter Trust manager wasn't at all surprised to find his protege tracking that evening.

"Brainbleed…how are things going?" he asked, slapping his own protege on his back.

The other goblin took his eyes off of the wall of brightly colored crystals just long enough glance up at Chokebar.

He smiled, and dryly replied, "Situation's normal, _Sir_."

"So…all fucked-up, then?"

"Not so much after _you_ got your sorry arse promoted…._Sir_."

Chokebar laughed at the insubordination of the junior executive. A month ago he might have drawn his blade for the slight, but he had worked closely with Brainbleed over the previous weeks and come to think of him as a trusted colleague.

The laughter was loud enough to catch the attention of the other goblins that were in on-duty. Their reactions varied; the senior NCO that helped manage the junior executive corps gave him a respectful nod, while one of junior executives growled and reached for the hilt of his short sword. A harsh bark from the former brought the latter reluctantly into line.

"So," asked Chokebar, "Mossbreath is your Dark faction opposite tonight?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Nice to see that the traitor isn't harboring any ill-feelings over the arse-thumping I gave him in the Arena," Chokebar quipped.

Brainbleed grinned. "Oh no, Sir… he's had nothing but positive things to say about you."

"Really?"

The on-duty nodded. "Yes, Sir…like how he is going to go _positively _medieval on your arse, and how he is _positive_ that you're going to be sacked in the first quarter, and _positive _that you're grabbing your ankles for Spleenchewer and the more senior Light faction managers."

Chokebar shook his head. "Lucky for him that it's a holiday and there isn't anyone around to cover his station. Otherwise I'd provide him some strong _negative_ reinforcement for that kind of talk."

"Yes, Sir."

"Not like I didn't beat him fair and square in the Arena…and I didn't take any of his favorites out of the pool."

Brainbleed chuckled. "It's the fact that he still has to use the pool that he gripes about most."

Chokebar snorted. "Well that's asinine, if he likes the variety. Senior execs can still abuse the pool when they don't want to use their own girl."

The junior executive nodded. "Most of us figure that it is _where_ he has to abuse them that bothers Mossbreath the most. It's your office he wants, Sir, not your girl."

"Why's that?"

Brainbleed smiled. "A few of us have been swimming at the same time with him," he explained. "Mossbreath is always dragging his girl into the darkest corner, furthest away from the rest of us."

"So, what…does he have performance anxiety, or a really small dick?"

Brainbleed snorted. "Are you assigning me the task of finding an answer to your question, Sir?"

Chokebar chuckled, and shook his head.

"Nah, I'll save that one as an alternative sentence for the next son of a bitch that is destined to become a dragon snack."

"Think I'd walk willingly into its mouth, if those were my only choices, Sir."

"You and me both, Brainbleed," Chokebar said with a laugh. He then changed topics by leaning a little closer to the wall of crystals.

"So…has anybody's portfolio lit up tonight?" he asked.

The younger goblin shrugged, keeping his gaze focused on the crystal-filled alert wall.

"Been pretty quiet, actually… for both factions. Not a surprise, given that it's also a human holiday."

"That sounds counterintuitive."

"It is, until you consider the fact that Riddle and his Deathsuckers are whores for publicity; the intelligence unit is convinced he's got something planned for tonight."

"Yes, well….let's hope that _that_ something doesn't involve my portfolio."

Brainbleed nodded as he glanced at Chokebar's cluster of tracking crystals. They were all tied in some way to the Potter Trust…having only a single client allowed the senior account manager to track individual aspects of his portfolio (those managers with more than a handful of clients sometimes had to pick and choose which portfolios they tracked).

Being both a Light faction tracker and Chokebar's protege meant that Brainbleed knew more about the manager's crystals than most. But he was still learning.

The junior executive leaned towards his superior and lowered his voice. "Most of your exposure is with Nimbus and one of their Quidditch teams… the Tornadoes, isn't it?"

Chokebar shook his head. He pointed towards one specific crystal and whispered, "Catapults, actually…the tracker blinks every time they have a home sellout."

"But not all of them are investments, right?"

Chokebar nodded. "Most of my exposure is with the health of my primaries…everything else is not even secondary…more like tertiary."

The younger goblin nodded as his eyes darted towards three specific crystals that sat side-by-side halfway up the wall.

"Those two linked to the wills are as quiet as ever, Sir," he replied. "Have you figured out why the third went black?"

The older goblin shook his head. "No…we know it's supposed to track a real estate asset, but beyond that? I get an axe-splitting headache whenever I try to remember what and where it is located."

"Aren't you worried that Spleenchewer will rip you a new one over that, Sir?"

Chokebar shook his head. "We've already been over that discrepancy with the auditors… even brought in a couple of curse breakers from Mergers & Acquisitions on a consulting contract. They are pretty certain that it is a Trust-owned property that is protected by a wizard's _Fidelius_ charm."

"So if the tracking crystal isn't working, why don't you reprogram it to track a different asset?"

Chokebar sighed. "Because I know it is important, somehow," he replied. "Just the fact that it isn't working at the moment is valuable information."

"About an asset that you don't know anything about."

"That's right."

"Why don't you just ask your client?"

The senior account manager snorted, and shook his head.

"Just be sure to watch those three crystals for me," Chokebar replied, as he worried about the health and well-being of clients who had gone to ground.

Brainbleed waited for the higher ranked goblin to elaborate, but wasn't at all upset when nothing more was said. He wasn't even curious, having been well-trained to both know his station, and to expect that Chokebar would also know his station well enough to keep the secrets that came with it.

The Senior Account Executive wished his protege a profitable night, and made his way out towards the employee cart house. It wasn't until later that evening that Chokebar realized that he might better have wished Brainbleed a night that was more uneventful than profitable.

**oo00OO00oo**

_**Godric's Hollow**_

Two wizards walked out of a portkey's rainbow-spray of lights and into a small wooded glade located on the edge of Godric's Hollow.

Voldemort took stock of his bearings, and complimented his minion on his choice of arrival points…secluded enough to avoid notice in the mixed community of magicals and Muggles, but close enough to their final destination to cover that distance in short order.

Peter Pettigrew led his Master through the darkened streets, to a point twenty feet away from the front gates of the Potter's hiding place. The betrayer pointed towards a small wooden post set on the said of the narrow road, and whispered, "The first alert ward is just past that post, My Lord."

Voldemort nodded. "The one that is triggered if someone casts a spell?"

"Yes, My Lord. The second ward…the one that is triggered when a witch or wizards crosses… is just a few feet past the first."

"Clever," said Voldemort. "So getting close enough to the perimeter to identify what type of wards are present will itself trigger an alarm."

"Yes, My Lord."

"So those are the only wards that protect the cottage?"

"Yes, My Lord…they said something about hiding in plain sight."

"Too smart…and too trusting…for their own good," said Voldemort, as he pulled a flattened metallic hat from beneath his cloak.

"Yes, My Lord."

"And Dumbledore…he still hasn't been told the secret?"

"No, My Lord."

"Fools!" Voldemort declared, placing the tin-foil hat on his head. Wormtail was too scared to notice (much less comment on) this action.

The Dark Lord judged the distance between the identified ward line and the front door of the cottage. If what Pettigrew said was true, he could simply apparate directly to the front door…or even appear suddenly within the cottage. But Voldemort wouldn't have put it past the Potters to add a nasty ward or two without telling Peter…and there was something to be said about making a memorable entrance.

"Wait back by that fence post for my return," Voldemort instructed Peter, pointing towards a spot further down the path.

"Yes, My Lord."

Voldemort waited until Peter withdrew the sixty-foot distance before he stepped out into the open, and walked up to the first ward line. He unfastened his heavy cloak and let it drop to the ground. The Dark Lord next drew out his wand, and cast a ward detection charm. The diagnostic spell confirmed what his minion had told him. It also triggered an alarm inside the cottage.

When Voldemort crossed the ward first line, and got close enough to the second to cast a second detection charm. Again he found it to be as Pettigrew described. He laughed out loud at the foolishness of the Potters, and then touched his wand tip against his belt buckle at the same moment that he pulled the Dirk of D'oh! out from its belted sheath.

The belt buckle was charmed to beep once every ten seconds for the first four intervals, then every single second for the five seconds after that. There hadn't been time to further test Voldemort's tin-foil hat, and while he was certain that he could resist the cursed dagger's effect for a longer period of time than any of his minions, this visit was important enough to act conservatively.

Forty-five seconds to spit in the face of Prophecy…without fear of Dumbledore mucking things up.

Voldemort blasted the front gate wide open with an overpowered curse, and walked with confidence towards his destiny.

**oo00OO00oo**

James was in the front sitting room reading a book when the noisy alarm went off. He rolled his eyes… it was the third time it had been tripped that evening. Not a great surprise, since it was Halloween night and their ward line was halfway out into the lane, and they were in a village that was inhabited by more than a few magical families. Adjusting those wards to cut down on the false alarms was something that was high up on his "honey-do" list.

"Will you check that, James?" Lily called from the bath.

"Yes, Dear," he said with a whiney tone of voice. He walked over to the front window, took a look out towards the street, and snorted.

"Now that is strange," he called back. "Lily…why would a wizard be wearing a tin-foil hat?"

Whatever answer Lily might have given was lost as the front gate was loudly smashed to pieces.

"Oh, Shit!" James hissed. "Lily! It's Voldemort! Go get Harry!"

**oo00OO00oo**

James Potter was an Auror. James Potter was authorized to use Unforgivables. James Potter was more than willing to cast _Avada Kedavra_ if it would protect his family. And he might had done so, or cast any of a dozen different lethal spells out the window towards the unwelcomed house guest, had he not been within the range of The Dirk of D'oh!

Instead, he drew his wand and magically reinforced the front door.

Lily Potter was a smart witch, who had gamed out this exact emergency situation with her husband. Well, almost exact…she hadn't imagined the possibility of Voldemort paying a visit while she was in the middle of a relaxing bath.

The cottage's ground floor bath was located on the back side of the building, exactly seventy-four feet away from the property's front gate. This meant that Lily was outside of The Dirk of D'oh's influence when she first heard her husband's warning. With a clear mind and a mother's focus, she jumped out of the bathtub, grabbed her wand and ran naked out the bathroom door.

Lily was halfway up the stairs when Voldemort bypassed the magically reinforced front door by blowing a hole into the cottage wall.

Being deprived of his common sense meant that James didn't rush up behind her with his fingers clenching the emergency portkey that was pinned to outside of his robes. But even someone without an ounce of common sense can love, and protect those that they love with their life.

James stood his ground, and dueled the Dark Lord for eighteen long seconds before he fell dead.

The emergency portkey that Lily always wore pinned to the outside of her robes was right where it should be…pinned to the outside of the robes that she had left hanging on a peg on the downstairs bathroom wall. But there were three different emergency portkeys located within the nursery at the time of Voldemort's arrival…a pin fastened to young Harry's toddler-sized cloak, his favorite stuffed creature, and the one thing that always seemed to be within the young boy's reach…his favorite book. Lily could have grabbed her son and activated any of these emergency portkeys…had the nursery not been located thirty-feet away and ten-feet above the spot where Voldemort stood as he dueled her husband: within range of the Dirk. So she didn't.

The Dark Lord hadn't set up any anti-apparation wards, so she could have grabbed her son and apparated away to safety. She might have alternatively thought to grab her son and escape using the broomstick that was propped up against the nursery window in case someone had overlapped anti-apparation and anti-portkey wards. But again, she was within range of the cursed dagger's area of effect.

Now, it could be argued that given the situation that it was common sense for a mother to hug her child, and tell him that his mummy and daddy loved him so very, very much. It also made sense for Lily to then place her child back inside his crib, so that she was free to begin casting an ancient spell powered by a mother's love and her willing sacrifice. That Harry's mother did do these two things, despite her proximity to The Dirk of D'oh!, just showed how much love can triumph over common sense (or the lack thereof).

Voldemort's belt buckle chimed to announce the end of the third ten-second interval as he climbed the stairs towards the nursery. Fifteen seconds should have been plenty of time for him to kill the child of prophecy, and then drag the mother back to the minion who had asked his lord for a boon. But the Dark Lord hadn't counted on walking into the nursery, only to find himself face-to-face with Lily Potter's drip-dry full frontal nudity. Or to be distracted, for that matter, by a toddler who was standing in his crib dressed his wolf suit…a toddler who was roaring terrible roars in Voldemort's direction, and gnashing terrible baby teeth, and rolling terrible eyes, and showing terrible claws.

The switch from a ten-second beep interval to consecutive one-second beeps pulled Voldemort half-way out his state of distraction.

"Get out the way!" he yelled.

"No, not my son!" Lily shouted, placing her naked body in between Harry and Voldemort.

She fell dead to the floor just before the belt-buckle beeped for the final time, announcing the elapse of a full forty-five seconds.

Young Harry cried out for his mother. His mother's murderer, having been recently stripped of most of his common sense, had a different reaction to her lifeless nude form.

The last Potter took offense, and roared a terrible roar that was strong enough to bring the Dark Lord back to task. Voldemort looked up towards the toddler and, now ignoring what he had heard Lily chant or the spell that she had just cast, pointed his wand towards the dead witch's child.

Harry Potter looked straight into Voldemort's eyes, reached his terrible claws over the edge of his crib, and shouted, **"I EAT YOU UP!"**

Which is pretty much what happened when the Dark Lord cast the killing curse.


End file.
